


Kill Yourself

by NervousOtaku (orphan_account)



Series: Tales of a 144 Player Fansession! [18]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background information, Death, Discussing SBURB, God Tier, Resurrection, SBURB Fan Session, Serious Conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: Or: The Thing About SBURB Is That Death Is Rarely Permanent





	

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...”

“Lance!” SirDumbosprite trumpeted in panic as he dragged himself through the door.

“C... Call help...” he choked, woozy with blood loss.

Five bear-traps and two pitfalls. He didn't want to know what _other_ lethal booby-traps were waiting for him.

The Page had been feeling confident in his skills, so tried venturing to a new part of his planet today. But the fog got thicker the farther away from his house he got, making it harder and harder to see the traps. He'd barely escaped one pitfall, but wound up putting his hand directly into a bear-trap while hauling himself out. He'd actually fallen into the next pitfall barely ten feet away after freeing himself from the bear-trap, twisting his ankle. With a lot of work, he'd hauled himself out of that hole, and had decided to return home. He didn't want his arm to get infected, and if he was attacked with that twisted ankle, he'd be toast. Luckily, he hadn't been attacked. Unluckily, four more bear-traps had all but materialized between him and home. You could see peeks of bone in his one leg's wounds. He was loosing a lot of blood, chilled to the bone, soaked with sweat and fog, and coated in dirt.

He didn't know if his sprite would be able to get to anyone on time or if he was going to die like this.

Lance hoped he wasn't going to die.

He didn't _want_ to die yet.

But it was so _tempting_ just to lie his head down and sleep...

Next thing Lance knew, he was waking up in his bed. He felt significantly cleaner and drier than before, but extremely hot. A low groan left him as he reached slowly up to rub at his eyes.

“Careful. You took quite the beating.”

Confused, he looked to the side. A slightly mousey woman greeted him, reaching out with a cloth to dab at his head. She wore brown clothes that felt oddly medieval, with a vine emblazoned across her chest in bright green. Across her back was a large rifle that seemed to have a million scopes on it, contradicting her choice of clothing.

“... Wha happened...?” he croaked.

“According to your sprite, you tried to go exploring, but encountered some difficulties. Did an underling maul you or something?” the woman said in a low, quiet voice as she wiped the damp cloth across his brow.

“No...” Lance rasped.

Frowning, the woman helped him sit up, and gave him a small drink of water.

“No,” he said again, voice better this time, “Fuckin' bear-traps 'nd pitfalls...”

“I see. Best be more careful next time you go wandering.” the woman advised as she lay him gently back down.

“... Who...”

“I'm Kierra Brown, the Maid of Life.” she said, adjusting her rifle so she could sit on a chair next to his bed. “From the looks of things, I'm also your nanny for a while.”

Indignant at the thought of being treated like a child, Lance started to push himself up. However, the action hurt both his arms and his head, so he flopped back down with a groan. This only made his head hurt worse, prompting a pathetic mewl of pain.

A feeling of warmth spread across his body all of a sudden, making the pain fade.

“... What did you _do_...?” he asked as Kierra sat back down.

“My abilities as a Maid of Life allow me to heal or even resurrect others. Like you.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, and Lance stared with wide eyes. “Y-you don't mean...?!”

“You were _dead_ when I got here, Lance. I had to use my power to bring you back. I'm surprised you don't remember that.” she deadpanned.

“ _How_...?! And... _you_...?!”

“Pygmalion, the Seer of Doom, had me bring him into the game after he brought in the Rogue of Void, who brought in our leader. He came to me not long after the Page of Space brought me in. He said that it was imperative I reach god-tier as quickly as possible, and ordered me to ignore my quest until I had done so. I was told to climb my echeladder as high as possible, then seek out my quest bed and ascend. Whenever I asked why, he simply said that we would all be doomed otherwise. I believe he went grimdark not long after that.” Kierra replied. Closing her eyes and crossing her arms, she added, “Since he seemed to have some understanding of what he said, I trusted him and did as he said. My powers began to rise before I god-tiered, but came into full strength once I did.”

Lance gulped, shocked at the information. “Uh... grimdark...?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“I'm assuming you haven't heard, then.”

“I guess not...?”

“Others refer to him as the tentacle-guy, if that helps.”

“Uh... no?”

“Very well. Grimdarkness can be defined most easily as going completely off the deep end. It takes many different forms, dependent on the person, or so I'm led to believe. Pygmalion achieved grimdarkness by killing himself and having his dream-self revived with a kiss. He then went to his sacrificial slab in the center of Derse's moon, goading the Archagent to kill him in his sleep while he lay there. Like this, he god-tiered, and then left the Incipisphere. No one knows what he was doing, but when he returned... he wasn't quite the same. I, for some reason, can still understand him, as can the Mage, Maid, Prince, Seer, Heir, and Bard of Void, but no one else can. Even his messages are all but indecipherable. It's funny, though. Despite Bob being our leader, Pygmalion appears to be the one pulling all the strings.”

“Wait, he _died?!_ ” Lance demanded, pain forgotten as he sat bolt-upright.

“Twice. Possibly more by this point.”

“Then... Did you die too?! To reach god-tier?!”

“That is how it appears to be done, yes.”

“That's _horrible!_ ” Lance exclaimed in horror.

Kierra turned her head, staring out the window. Confused, Lance followed her gaze. He couldn't see anything out there but the fog.

“This game is geared towards death.” the Maid said suddenly. “It only starts at the end of the world. All our guardians and families have died. The kernelsprites accept dead material better than they do living, to a certain extent. In order to be able to make anything, we need to kill underlings to retrieve the grist required. We can only god-tier and therefore unlock our true potential if we die on our quest beds or our sacrificial slabs. The time of the world ending is signaled with the death of the White King. To win the game, we must kill the Black King. As gods, we have conditional immortality, so as long as our death is neither Heroic or Just, we can come continually back. The doomed timelines branching off of the alpha are either destroyed, killing everything in them, healed, meaning that our doomed selves will die alongside us, or have their remaining time and therefore life cut off and added onto our own. Once we create our own universe, the game will only begin to take form once we have all died.”

“... Y-you're _kidding_...” Lance mumbled.

“Pygmalion says that I am one such defense against this. I can stave off death and allow life to prevail. I believe this was his reasoning in urging me to god-tier as quickly as possible, but who can say for certain.”

Lance stared at her.

Kierra reached out and felt his forehead, examining him carefully. “The fever is gone. Your wounds should be better, but I would recommend taking it easy for another day or two. And perhaps be more careful while adventuring in the future.” she said, standing up. Shouldering her rifle, she captchalogued the chair she'd been sitting in and turned to go.

“Hey,” Lance called, drawing her attention back to him, “You said that grimdarkness is defined as going off the deep end, and that this guy is essentially controlling our session. Do you _really_ trust him?”

For the first time that Lance had seen, Kierra smiled. It was small, secretive and impish.

She answered simply and left, shutting the door behind her.


End file.
